


heavy heart and a heavy mind

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt Dean Winchester, Mild Language, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: A badly-timed wish on your part and a curse from a witch has you and Dean reconsidering the nature of your relationship.





	heavy heart and a heavy mind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Angst Bingo.

You grit your teeth at the sound of gunshots and a struggle inside the house, and sit on the curb, your back pressed up against the Impala, your ankle throbbing. It figures that the most important hunt of the entire year finally comes to fruition, and you practically break your ankle before you can even help out.

You’re starting to feel useless, and when everything inside goes quiet, you can’t help but feel your nerves kick back up. You grip your gun tight with both hands in case what comes out of the front door next isn’t six feet tall and wearing flannel, and breathe a sigh of relief when Sam comes out, eyes zeroing in on you.

“Thank god.” You whisper, and grimace as you try to get to your feet.

“Don’t, don’t, you’ll make it worse.” Sam chides, but you wave him off, taking the hand he offers instead and pulling yourself to your feet.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Making sure the job is finished. You were right - witches.”

You look up when the front door opens, and Dean comes out, looking unsteady on his feet. “Is he–” You start to say to Sam, and then Dean doubles over, and Sam makes sure you’re propped up against the car before heading over to his brother’s side.

You wince as you see Dean’s face contorted in pain. “Get him in the car,” you say, “I’ll check him out if you drive.”

When Sam gets him close enough, you support Dean’s other side, and try to maneuver him into the backseat.

“Dean? Where does it hurt?”

“I didn’t see any blood,” Sam tells you.

“Jesus Christ. The last time I felt like this there was a hex bag in my suitcase.” Dean says, and you scramble to empty his pockets, but come up empty.

“There’s nothing there. Did she curse you or something? Did she say anything to you before you two killed her?”

“I don’t remember,” Dean says, and then he straightens up, “Wait. Wait, I think–” He sits upright, absently patting at his abdomen. “It doesn’t hurt as bad anymore.”

In the driver’s seat, Sam frowns. You stare at Dean, hand on his arm, watching for any sign that he might keel over in the next five minutes. Sam floors it back to the bunker, and you keep going over concussion symptoms, signs of torn muscles, anything you can remember from your brief stint in nursing school as you try to figure out what could have caused Dean to react that way.

“What happened in there?” You ask him quietly, watching Sam’s eyes flick over to you in the rearview mirror.

“Tracked the witches to the house, iced ‘em. The usual.”

“And you’re sure they didn’t say–”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure. Didn’t really give either of them time to explain themselves, much less–”

“Okay, okay.” You say, moving away from Dean. “Sorry.”

It’s like that sometimes. One minute, the three of you are laughing and having a great time, and the next, it’s like Dean can’t even stand to be in the same room as you. He doesn’t like being questioned, you get that, but sometimes he acts so high and mighty you wonder how you’ve lasted this long without kicking his ass.

When you get back to the bunker, Sam gets Dean inside while you start grabbing bags and supplies out of the trunk. You hear Sam call your name, a little frantically, and you abandon your task, taking off running through the garage and back to the kitchen, where Dean is doubled over the table.

“We need to call Cas-” Sam says, but you’re only half-listening. When you get closer to Dean, the lines in his face smooth out, and he almost seems… relieved?

“Oh, shit.” You whisper. Sam looks up at you, and you make brief eye contact with Dean. “Proximity curse.”

“Fuck,” Dean curses, “No, that doesn’t make any–” he’s cut off when you take three large steps back to the hallway, and he lets out a pained groan. “Okay, I take it back, just get over here, please.”

You pull out the chair and sit down next to Dean, and Sam grimaces. “Okay, okay. We’ve– we’ve dealt with this before… sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Sam smiles sympathetically. “I’m going to go check out the library and see what I can find out. For now just… just stay there.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You mean because I was planning on leaving here and being in excruciating pain the rest of the night?”

“I’m pretty sure he was talking to me, in case I decide I don’t feel like putting up with you being an asshole,” you snap, glaring at the eldest Winchester, who glares right back.

“This is fuckin’ perfect.” He mutters under his breath, and you roll your eyes.

“Sam will figure it out.”

“This still doesn’t make any sense. You weren’t even around when I ganked her.” He points out, and you shrug.

“She had to have seen me out the window. I don’t know, dude. Why do witches do anything that they do?”

“Just to be bitches,” He says, looking at you with a hint of a smile. You feel some of the tension surrounding you evaporate, and you keep the eye contact for a minute before his falters, and he winces. “I– okay, this is going to suck, but can you–” his ears actually _redden_. “Can you come a little closer?”

Your first reaction is concern, because he seems to be getting worse, but you feel a pang of hurt shoot through you at Dean’s choice of words. _This is going to suck_ , he said. You shake off your emotions and move so you’re sitting cross-legged in front of Dean’s kitchen chair.

“Here.” You say gently, and take his hand in both of yours, watching as his shoulders slump and relief floods through his body.

“Thanks.” He says gruffly, and suddenly you want to cry. Why is this happening? Why you? It’s just your fucking luck that the one person you want most in the world only needs you close because of a curse.

You sit there in silence for almost ten full minutes before Dean’s stomach starts to growl, and you bite back a laugh. You’re hungry too, so you get up to look in the fridge when his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. You’re about to snap at him for grabbing you like that when you look at his face, seeing it twisted in pain.

“Shit, Dean.” You say, because you’re only a few steps away. This curse is definitely going to get worse before it gets better. You just hope you can keep your heart intact by the end of it.

.

.

.

“Jesus, _fuck_ –” Dean chokes out, and you’re pretty sure you’re not hiding how you’re on the verge of tears anymore.

Dean was right – this _sucks_. He’s in pain, and it doesn’t seem to matter how hard you grip his hand or how close you sit, he just can’t stop cursing and you’re so goddamn angry at that fucking witch, you wish you could resurrect her and then kill her yourself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you can’t stop repeating yourself, but you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even hear you anymore. His eyes are glazed over and he’s sweating bullets, having stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers an hour ago.

You managed to get him to his bedroom, where at least it’s more comfortable for you both to sit, but that’s putting it gently. Dean is anything but comfortable right now, and it’s breaking your heart. You hate to see him or Sam in pain, especially when you can’t help them.

“Please–” Dean says, letting go of your hand so he can grip your bicep, trying to tug you closer. “Please just come over here.”

“I’m right here, Dean.”

“No. Closer.” He grunts, and you’re surprised at his strength when he all but bodily hauls you into his lap. “Where the fuck is Sam?”

“Still working on it. He’s trying to get Cas here.” You tell him, and he groans, his eyes screwing shut when another wave of pain runs through his body so hard that he shudders.

“I can’t– this is going to kill me.” He whispers, and you think you can hear your heart cracking.

“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to fix this.”

“No– no, this– this isn’t how it should be. Not you.”

You frown. “You’re not making any sense, Dean. Try to take some deep breaths–”

“ _No_.” He says, fierce, and you blink at him. “I meant– you shouldn’t have to sit here like this, with me, when you don’t even want…” he trails off, and your heart starts to race.

“Hey.” You duck your head down, trying to make eye contact with him. “I’ll decide for myself what I want, got it? And right now I want to help you.”

“You’re hurt.” He says, sounding angry, and you roll your eyes, because you haven’t even thought about your ankle over the last few hours, you’ve been too worried about Dean.

You bite your lip and decide to go for honesty. “I don’t give a fuck about my ankle right now, Dean. I want to help you and I’m not leaving your side for a second, so don’t try it.”

His eyes are wide as he looks up at you, and he tightens his arms around your waist just a little bit. You probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all if you weren’t so nervous about watching out for any little sign that his condition was getting worse.

“You’re bossy.” He says, finally, and you snort.

“Yeah, well.” You say, sighing as he finally starts to relax a little bit.

“I– You’re going to kick my ass for this, but I think I need–”

“Just spit it out, Dean.”

“I need to touch you.” He says, and you’re absolutely floored. He sounds so _wrecked_ , and you want to cry again, because he’s not saying it in a moment of adoration or lust, he’s saying it because he’s in pain. “I’m sorry–”

“No, don’t.” You tell him. “It’s not your fault.”

You shove your feelings down as far as you can and try to concentrate on helping your friend. Dean moves slowly, but you can feel his hands shaking. Whether it’s nerves or pain, you can’t tell, but you shut your eyes and take a deep breath as he slowly works his fingers underneath your shirt, and sighs when his palm connects with the small of your back.

Your breath is coming out shaky, and you hate yourself for the shiver that ripples up your spine at his touch. _This isn’t about you_ , you scream internally. _It could be anyone here, and he would be acting the same way_. That last, bitter thought is enough to get your mind right.

Dean’s fingers are ghosting up and down your spine, and you hear him make a contented noise right before his forehead hits your shoulder, his breath ghosting over you as he almost puts his full weight on you, going for as much skin contact as possible.

“Better?” You ask, going for lighthearted, but it comes out as more of a croaking noise, your voice almost cracking.

Dean mumbles something unintelligible and pulls you closer, your legs tangling together as you straighten out. He’s being unbearably gentle with you, careful to avoid kicking your sore ankle, and the urge to cry again is right there, making your throat tight.

“For what it’s worth, this isn’t how I imagined this happening.” He says, so quiet you think you wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he weren’t pressed right up against you.

“What?”

He’s got both hands on your bare skin now, fingers tracing mindless patterns across your back. “I always thought if we– it would be different, it would be because you wanted…” He trails off, looking uncomfortable. “Fucking witches.” He spits out, and you can’t help but laugh, because it’s so typical Dean Winchester.

You don’t mean to laugh, you really don’t, but this whole situation is just so fucking bizarre. “I do, though, Dean.” You tell him. “I want–”

“Please don’t say it if you’re just trying to make me feel better–”

“I’m _not_ , Dean, I–”

Dean’s face suddenly contorts in pain, and his grip tightens on you to the point where you try to squirm away from him.

“Dean?”

He doesn’t respond except to grit his teeth and make a noise of pain, so you try to reach for your phone on the nightstand without moving too far away from him. “I’m going to call Sam,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, and your worry increases tenfold.

You dial Sam quickly. “Something’s happening with Dean. Can you–”

Sam hangs up before you can ask him to come down to Dean’s room, and you hear his footsteps in the hallway not long after, before the door opens up. “What’s wrong?” He asks, eyes a little wild, and you gesture towards his brother.

“What isn’t? It isn’t working anymore, me being here. It’s not doing anything–”

“Okay, calm down.” He comes round to the other side of the bed, crouching down next to Dean. “Dean? It’s worse now?”

“This is really how I’m going to die?” Dean chokes out, “Really?”

“You’re not going to die.” You and Sam say simultaneously. “Cas is coming and he’s bringing Rowena. I can’t find the spell to reverse this.” Sam looks up at you briefly. “It’ll be over soon, just hang on.”

“I’m hurting you.” Dean says, but he doesn’t let go of you, just shifts around so he’s not crushing you to his chest quite so hard.

“Cuddled to death isn’t a terrible way to go,” you tell him, trying to make him laugh, but he just grimaces again, and you can feel his hands start to shake again.

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like this is fine, when it’s really not fucking fine.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Dean.” Sam chides him quietly, but Dean just glares.

“What? Am I supposed to sugar coat this when I feel like I’m being stabbed from the inside out? Jesus fucking–”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice suddenly sounds in the room, and all three of you jump.

“My, my.” Rowena crows, “This certainly is cozy.”

.

.

.

It’s been an entire _day_ since you’ve seen Dean.

Cas and Rowena showed up and Rowena was able to cast a spell to cure Dean. It was all over rather quickly, but not without some smart comments that had you itching to lunge after Rowena, pretty sure that Dean was close to doing the same thing.

Rowena, too smart for her own good, like always, had made some comment about how _if you wouldn’t have wished so hard for Dean-o to just want you back–_ and that’s when you’d snapped, Sam having to grab you to keep you from lashing out.

This whole thing was _your fault_. A thought unbidden that ended up having actual, real, consequences.

That was last night, and since then, an entire morning and afternoon has gone by since you’ve seen him. You know he’s around – you’ve been just missing him in almost every place in the bunker you can think of.

And you’re trying not to overreact, because it _was_ awkward, what had happened, but he’s trying to pretend it never happened, and that he never said the things that he did, and that _hurts_.

_“I always thought if we– it would be different.”_

You hear his voice in your head over and over, and you can’t help but focus on that part. Does that mean he’s thought about it? About you and him? You’re convinced he didn’t know what he was saying; that he only said those things because he was cursed.

The fact that he’s been avoiding you all day cements it.

You feel like a brat when you retreat to your room, but you really can’t stand the idea of him avoiding certain places in the bunker where you’re likely to be. It’s technically _his_ house, and you already feel guilty enough about this entire situation.

Plus, Sam’s already gotten on your case about your ankle once, so you figure you’ll grab some ice and put your foot up and try to watch TV or something to take your mind off this whole thing. If that’s even possible.

You’re halfway back to your room, not really paying attention, when you round a corner and run right into Dean, and in the struggle of trying to stay upright, you twist your already sore ankle, and yelp, falling to the ground in a heap.

“Shit,” Dean curses, kneeling down next to you. “Are you okay?”

“Goddammit that hurts.”

Dean reaches out as if to touch you, and you shrink away, his hand staying frozen in midair above your foot.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Sorry. I– I’m just going to go lie down. I’ll be fine.”

“Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” You say, a little more forcefully than you intended, but you don’t know what else to do except to get out of here as soon as possible.

You look up, and Dean’s eyes are swimming with hurt, and a little bit of anger simmering in there too. “Why are you–”

“What?” You snap. “Why am I what?”

“You don’t want me to touch you.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve been avoiding me all day after a day where we literally did nothing but touch each other, and you wonder why I would think–”

“Wait, wait. You think I’m avoiding you?”

You struggle to your feet. “What the fuck else am I supposed to think?”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “Dammit, I didn’t want–” He exhales hard, “I didn’t want this to happen. This is exactly why I didn’t… this is all so fucked up, and I–”

“Look, I’m sorry you’re feeling guilty, but I told you, you have no reason to feel bad. It wasn’t your fault. It happened, and you’re better now–”

“That’s not why I feel guilty! I don’t feel guilty because you helped me, shit, you know I’d do the same for you if you were the one…” He trails off, “I feel guilty because I wanted it to be _real_ , and that’s why I’ve been avoiding you, because I didn’t want you to feel like you were obligated to–”

“Wait, wait. Back up.” You say firmly. “What do you mean, you wanted it to be real?” Your voice is much smaller than you want it to be.

“Of course I do,” he says, sounding like the admission is taking a huge weight off his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“You– you were cursed. Rowena said it was just because of a random wish I made, and I thought–”

“I know. And I was going to say something, I _was_ , but then it all went to shit before Rowena turned up, and then there was so many people around, I didn’t want to say anything.”

You frown, feeling frustrated. “At any point today, you could have come and talked to me.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”

You sigh, feeling an awkward silence settle over the two of you. “Can you just… can you help me back to my room? I don’t think I can walk on it.”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” He replies, and then he’s there, close, his right arm going around your waist, pulling you flush against him. A flashback to the night before threatens to overwhelm you, but you force yourself to stop thinking like that.

Dean wants you, he basically said so himself, but you can’t shake your frustration at the way he’s treated you today.

You get back to your room without any further damage, and Dean helps you prop your ankle on a few extra pillows. You remember how even when he was half out of his mind with pain, he still was so gentle with you, and you feel like you want to cry again.

“I don’t blame you for hating me.”

You scoff. “Don’t be stupid. I don’t hate you.”

He sits down at the edge of your bed, not looking at you. He concentrates instead on fiddling with his watch. “I hated myself, you know. During that entire thing. I hated myself because you were just trying to help, and I took advantage.”

“You couldn’t help it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He meets your eyes this time. “I really am sorry. But I meant what I said, about wanting you. I don’t care what Rowena said – maybe you wished for it, maybe I was cursed. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

You sit there, trying to absorb the whole thing. Rowena had explained it like it was almost random - the witch cursed Dean with whatever the last wish about him coming true, but she had no way of knowing your wish, one you rarely let yourself think, was about him. For all she knew, the last thing anyone wished about Dean was that he would shut up, or go jump off a cliff.

But it hadn’t been. The last wish someone made about Dean was a wish that he would want you close, want you like you wanted him. She had no way of knowing that, and neither did Dean.

“Come here,” You whisper.

He frowns, but moves closer, so your shoulders are brushing. You turn slightly, hard when you’re sitting side-by-side, but he just watches you, waiting to see what you’re going to do. You reach for him, slowly, giving him time to move away. He doesn’t.

Your hand lands on a scruffy cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone lightly. You apply a bit of pressure to get him to lean in, and you meet him halfway, his lips meeting yours slowly. You feel him sigh against you, a sigh of relief and want all wrapped up in one.

He mirrors you, one hand winding through your hair while the other one holds you steady at your neck, thumb grazing your jaw. When you break away, his eyes are still closed, but there’s a small smile on his face.

“That’s how I pictured it.” He says quietly, and you grin as he opens his eyes.

“Me too.”


End file.
